Dr Slav
by FunkyWashingMachine
Summary: Now on Earth, Slav becomes a therapist


He was not surprised by the identity of his next client. After all, it happened this way in about 49% of realities proceeding from this point.

"Good afternoon," he nodded to the Earthling. "I am Dr. Slav."

"Are you kidding me?" said his client. "They never said it was gonna be YOU."

"Well, Keith," Slav put out his two favorite palms, "our professional relationship does not have to leave this building."

"I didn't even want to come here!"

"Well, perhaps you would like to visit another therapist, though none of the others have been voted This Reality's Most Effective Therapist by _Shrinks Monthly_. You can see the article here on this plaque."

"How can you possibly be this reality's best therapist? You can't even go outside when it's raining!"

Slav straightened his lucky blue therapist tie.

"Well, do you want my full deductions on that?"

"No, I don't, actually."

"Very well. But I can tell you with 99.4% certainty that a visit with me has an 82.1% chance of helping you deal with at least 56.0% of your emotional problems."

"What are you gonna do, logically deduct them out of me?"

"I also have silly putty."

Keith sighed and unclenched his fist.

"Fine. I'll take the silly putty."

Slav opened his second-most-important desk drawer.

"What is your lucky range of terahertz?"

"Uh… what?"

He held out the container of silly putty. Keith picked out a mildly displeasing color, but it was important that he pick his favorite one, or he would be 59% less likely to sit down.

"There are also mints on the desk, and Kleenex for the six percent of realities where this causes you to cry uncontrollably for the full session. But it is the good kind of crying. Would you like to begin?"

Keith opened the jar of silly putty with a pleasant little pop sound.

"What have I got to lose."

"That is the spirit," Slav clicked a pen. "So, what brings you my office today?"

"Shiro, mostly," Keith said, sitting on the couch. "He didn't know it was gonna be you, either."

"Tell me about Shiro," Slav said. "He must be a good friend of yours."

"You _know_ him, of course he is."

"For the purposes of our doctor/patient relationship, I do not know anything. At least, nothing that I cannot calculate by myself."

"Which leaves, what, the number of hairs on my head?"

"Somewhere between 132,094 and 138,631. I will not be able to tell until you turn around."

"Fine, whatever," Keith began to pull the silly putty apart like a florpulescent flarktidder.

"So," Slav folded some of his hands. "Why did Shiro want you to come in and see me?"

"Uh… because I'm not happy?"

"Are those your words, or his?"

"His, I guess."

"Do you think he's right?"

"I… I don't know," Keith said. "I never _think_ about being happy."

"Oh, I see," Slav said, scribbling out a very well-shaded xomphiller on his clipboard. It would go quite well with the others.

"Am I supposed to think about being happy?"

"Not necessarily," Slav said. "But it helps to notice when you are NOT happy. Such as when one of your socks has become discolored in the wash and the matching one has not, and you are forced to throw both of them away lest they alter your balance and cause you to fall down the stairs and into an open storm drain, resulting in death by blunt trauma, drowning, or alligator attacks."

"Uh… okay."

"If you have not noticed that your socks are different colors, then you are in danger of losing your balance without knowing why. But if you recognize the problem first, then you can change your socks before you get anywhere near an alligator."

"So, what are you saying?"

Of course, it was easy to forget what poor conceptual skills the Earth ones possessed.

"I am saying it is bad to let problems get out of hand."

"Oh. Yeah."

Keith hugged one of the pillows to his chest. It was the slightly-less-soft one. Slav knew he should have put the other one closer. The Earthlings always needed help knowing what was best for them.

"So," Keith looked out the window as he squeezed the pillow. "You're saying I've let my problems get out of hand."

"I am not saying that yet," said Slav. "After all, you have done very well to seek help when you need it."

"It's really not that bad," Keith said. "We're all home, I'm not dead, and the Earth's mostly okay."

"But?"

"But what?"

"You sounded like there was something else."

Keith looked down at the pillow.

"I don't know. I guess… my friends all get to come home to this Earth that they love, but… home was never like this for me."

"Like what?"

"Like, with my mom and… people who want me around, and people who think I'm WORTH something."

"And this upsets you?"

"It _shouldn't_ , that's the thing," said Keith.

"Well, Keith," Slav steepled all his best fingers. "It sounds to me as if you are grieving what could have been had you lived in a more fortunate reality. A reality where you _always_ had these things you have now, since you never had a chance to miss them before."

The pillow furled out as Keith hugged it tighter.

"What about _you?_ Doesn't it drive you crazy to see all these things that could have been?"

"Oh, of course it drives me crazy. But it is also what makes me such an excellent therapist."

"I thought it just made you freak out."

"Mark my words, Keith. In all 100% of realities, there are approximately zero decent mental health professionals who have never experienced a psychological issue of their own. It is what makes us such understanding people."

"Uh, yeah, about that. Do you even have, I don't know. A license or whatever?"

"I do not, however your planet's social infrastructure is not exactly in a place to prevent me from practicing. I came here to help your people rebuild, and this is something that needs to be done."

"Yeah, I guess…"

"How do you feel about our session so far?"

"I guess it's okay."

"Well, I hope it continues as such. But there are times when it _does_ hurt to think about your life. And that is a sign of progress and not regression."

Keith reached for a mint. Slav narrowed the range of the hair-count estimate by 564 hairs.

"I have another theory that is correct in 99% of realities relevant to your situation," Slav said. "You have never _believed_ you deserved better than what you used to have. Because that would have made you see the crippling injustice of it all, so it was easier just to believe you deserved to be left out of everything. And now that you have something better, your old world map says you are not allowed to deserve it, so you are unhappy."

Keith was quiet a moment.

"I guess I'll have to think about that," he said in such a way that Slav knew he was definitely, unsurprisingly right.

"Well, if this sounds like you, that is something we will be working on," Slav said, because if he made it SOUND like he was right, in most realities he'd just piss the client off and lose all their progress. "And I wish to be the first to tell you, you absolutely DO deserve to have positive things in your life."

"You're not the first," Keith said, a little defensively. Then the look fell away. "I guess you're the second."

"Oh, it's THAT kind of reality," Slav said, adjusting his calculations. "Well, I am glad to hear your support network is not completely non-existent."

"Not anymore."

"Well, of course you also deserve to have people you can confide in, and a competent therapist who can help you along the way."

"Thanks."

"And you know what else you deserve? This box of Kleenex."

Slav reached over the desk to hand it to him.

Keith took one and blew his nose.


End file.
